


Not Good Enough

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Angst, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: “He wasn’t born that way, he made himself.” – Moffat





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vertual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vertual/gifts).



> Thank you to [Kate (vertual)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vertual/pseuds/vertual) for BETA-ing this and actually waited for me to go through all the shit in my folder since last year (okay it was like five days-ish, but I want to make a stupid joke), and then gimme a firm nudge to post it. I definitely needed that vote of confidence, thank you :D

There was air of uncertainty as he reached for her, slowly and tentatively, allowing her to pull back if she wished so. She didn’t, and so he moved closer, wrapping his arms gingerly around her. He felt her sigh and melt into his embrace and he in turn started to breathe again. She was close and he could smell the strawberry shampoo she was fond of. Her smell clouded his senses, not at all an unwelcome feeling. He felt as her small hands slowly wrapped around his waist, and without hesitation this time, he pulled her even closer, molding their bodies together.  
  
They must have stood in the middle of the morgue for at least ten minutes before she spoke. It surprised him, having found himself lost in her.  
  
“Thank you,” her small voice wafted through the silence. “I needed this.”  
  
He felt her hands drop from his waist and groaned at the loss of contact. “Five more minutes,” he said, unthinkingly. Five more minutes, he just wanted to stay in her embrace for five more minutes. The hug, he realized, was more for him than for her. She was the one having a bad day; she was the one who had to deal with unimaginable things, and yet he needed it more than she did.  
  
She didn’t protest, understanding what he meant, and slowly wrapped her arms around his waist again. He didn’t deserve her and he knew that but God, he wanted to be whatever she wanted him to be. Anything and everything, all she ever needed to do was ask. If she asked, he would willingly be a saint or a sinner. He would apologize to any deity she wanted and without protest. She never did, not once ask anything of him. Just an apology so many years ago, and it wasn’t even for her. She never asked anymore.   
  
“Molly, I –” he started to speak as one second bled into another. His five minutes were almost up, he knew that, and he couldn’t ask for another five when he knew it wouldn’t be fair to her. Not unless there was something for him to promise her.  
  
Unfortunately, his timing was always a bit not good. His mobile went off as soon as he started to speak. He cursed his luck and reluctantly pulled away from her. To his disappointment, the reluctance of parting didn’t seem to register when he caught her eyes. She couldn’t see it and his heart sank.   
  
A small smile played on his lips as he fished out his mobile from his pocket. She could always see him, just not when he wanted it the most. Just like during the moments when his eyes would linger on her just a second longer or the times he would watch her as she walked away.  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, deciding it was the only word he could say as he took a step back, creating a favourable distance between their bodies. He rather wished he didn’t have to.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she replied with a flush face and a smile.  
  
He very nearly swooped in to kiss her. Very nearly. But he stilled himself and turned to read the text from his brother, cursing him mentally.  
  
 _ **Diogenes, 15 minutes – MH**_  
  
A sigh escaped Sherlock’s lips as he decided cursing Mycroft was probably a bad thing. His older brother, despite the fact that Sherlock would never admit it freely, always had great timing. Saving him time and time again, a fact he would always be grateful for, even grudgingly so. This was definitely one of those times when he felt he would require an out, as if he knew without saying.  
  
“Mycroft,” he said, looking back to Molly, as if the name explained everything.  
  
He saw her shrug in response and without saying anything further, he turned on his heel, making a hasty escape. Staying even a second longer would be a mistake. A mistake because he would want to hold her longer than five minutes more. A mistake because he would inadvertently hurt her and he knew this better than anyone ever thought he could. A mistake because she deserved better.


End file.
